


Empty Beach

by ishouldwritethatdown



Category: Within the Wires (Podcast)
Genre: (just like her), Gen, Loneliness, Sad and Vague and Arty, Sunsets, Walks On The Beach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 21:07:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13443402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishouldwritethatdown/pseuds/ishouldwritethatdown
Summary: Thoughts come and go like waves on the sand. Standing on a beach on Aotearoa, it's hard to remember any time it wasn't sunset. It's hard to imagine any time the beach wasn't empty. Any time she wasn't alone.





	Empty Beach

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sad and gay what do you want from me

The beach was empty.

This was not a factually correct statement; the beach was full of sand and seashells and crabs and the billion dancing colours of a sunset on water.

But Roimata was thinking that the beach was empty.

She was thinking about the trio of footsteps – two human, one canine – that were being gently picked at by the tide. She was thinking about the two people who had walked in hand, maybe, along the edges of the ocean’s grip on the world. Where were they now?

She could imagine, if she cared to, that there was a fourth companion in their party. Little feet bounding up and down with great splashes and giggles. They were the loudest, and the busiest, but they didn’t leave the traces that the others did. The marks they left in the sand were churned up and smoothed out just as they made them.

The sunset was pretty enough to paint. She had known it would be, when she set out to the beach. She did not bring her acrylics.

So many beautiful sunsets. Beautiful upon beautiful, one day after the other. She had yet to see an ugly sunset. That would be something to paint indeed.

She had seen ugly sunrises. Sunrises that illuminated spilled champagne and passed-out party guests and just how bad the singing really was. She had seen some beautiful sunrises, too. Usually, they were quiet.

Why was quiet beautiful?

Gulls squawked in the sky. The waves lapped the shore with a persistent psshhhhh...

It was not quiet. It was beautiful.

She could feel the rhythm of the tide pulsing through her. It was relaxing, familiar. Reliable.

Reliable. You could rely on the moon to pull the tides. You could rely on the tide being low or high or in between. You could rely on knowing these things.

The tide should’ve been high. Shouldn’t it? She couldn’t remember. Not remembering was a treacherous thing. Remembering was, too.

It seemed, sometimes, that life was just treacherous all the time. Maybe they only noticed when the tide was low.

Roimata felt the sand working its way into the creases in her feet, the tight spaces between her toes that never quite seemed free of sand. The sand was cool, underneath, without even the last messy streaks of sunlight to warm it. She felt tiny, smooth stones on their way to being sand rubbing against her soles.

A warm wind drifted from over the sea, whispering promises that it didn’t intend to keep. It ruffled her hair affectionately, and she took a few steps closer to the dark line where the wet sand met the dry. The abandoned footsteps – two human, one canine – were almost washed away now. You really had to look.

She looked at her feet, solid and real and covered in sand, next to the suggestion of an impression of a footstep taken leisurely by the shore. This person had no idea that Roimata was now comparing their feet; the shape, the size, and the loneliness.

Even ghosts had more companions than her, it seemed.

She took another step, well onto the more solid mass of wet sand now. She felt the waves tickle her feet, brushing away some of the sand that had gathered but leaving more behind.

She took another step. The gulls kept crowing as they always did, no protest there. No sea monster wrapped itself around her ankle to teach her of her mistake. Another step. The sun went on setting.

As always, the world was indifferent to the path of an artist on an empty beach at sunset.

Roimata turned around and started walking back up the beach. The last drop of sunlight slipped into the ocean while she bent to pick up her shoes.

In the shadows left behind, not a footstep could be seen.


End file.
